


And the Planets Can't Separate Us

by iSlashiShipiFlail



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Derek/Others but not like a relationship ssh, Fluff, Fluffity Fluff Fluff, Kind of. Not really., M/M, Mpreg, Omega Derek, Omega Derek Hale, Omega!Derek, Pregnant!Derek, Yeeeep. All the good things., bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iSlashiShipiFlail/pseuds/iSlashiShipiFlail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale shows up at Stiles’ doorstep at ass o’clock in the morning, half-conscious and whimpering ‘please’ repeatedly, in between broken breaths.</p><p>He hears before he sees the lump of shape decorating his tiny porch and his immediate thought is he’s encountering a haunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sucky title is sucky. Hush. I was attacked by this plot bunny in the middle of the night. I hope I can deliver it properly because it gives me all the feels. I'm not quite sure what warnings or tags to add so feel free to comment if you think I should add something.
> 
> I hope to God I can finish this but I'm a messy writer and bad characterization is such a turn-off especially if it's done by myself.
> 
> Note that I only watched the first season of Teen Wolf and have been inhaling canon facts from fanfics and tumblr but this is pretty much an AU so it shouldn't matter much, I hope.
> 
> Enjoy!

[Saturday: Morning]

Derek Hale shows up at Stiles’ doorstep at ass o’clock in the morning, half-conscious and whimpering ‘please’ repeatedly, in between broken breaths. He has a protective arm around his blown-up stomach; it was frail and shaking, yet he puts full effort into curling up into the tightest ball, making his relatively broad build as small as possible. He’s naked and absolutely filthy, barely any skin unmarred by mud and blood and other putrid substances, from his matted mess of hair to his trembling toes.

It’s a weekend and Stiles has had a late night at work. He groans and stretches his neck, sitting within the confines of his jeep to relish in a minute free of worries before he has to think of going back to the office in a few hours to deal with the mountains of articles waiting for him at his desk. He whines pathetically for all the lost Saturdays, full of sleeping in and video games, that was buried with his sweet, sweet youth.

Grabbing his soda and his bucket of curly fries – sending a prayer in thanks for all the food places that served curly fries 24 hours – he shouldered his bag and made sure he had his binder in the other hand; which, he totally needs to organize because does that picture even go in any of their magazines?

Trying to open his car door proved to be problematic. He should have done that before taking all his things.

Gracelessly, Stiles managed to spill out of the Jeep with all his limbs in their proper places. Somehow, he also had a free hand to twirl his keys with. He has to do a bit of maneuvering to open the cute little – utterly useless – gate that blocked him from his house and turn to close it again with an irritated huff.

He hears before he sees the lump of shape decorating his tiny porch and his immediate thought is he’s encountering a haunting. The creepy – Korean? Thai? – animated comic he found online all those years ago, with the phantom’s bloody face and the whole running towards the screen on all fours _freaking backwards_ – replaying in his head and draining all color from his face. He feels his heart jump wildly in his chest and he clutches his food to him in fright. Really, he’d prefer a heart-attack rather than a terrifying ghost encounter right now.

He must make some sort of sound, though he doesn’t know how seeing as he’s frozen in terror, because the lump uncurls the tiniest amount and he sees two points of bright blue glowing in his direction; it takes a while to register they were eyes and Stiles attempts to scramble back only to hit his pitiful excuse for a gate. Honestly, it was so small he could probably jump over and escape without risking his merchandise. Remembering what happened to the poor school girl when she tried to turn around in the comic made him refuse to take his eyes away from his own lump-ghoul. He hopes this one doesn’t run backwards on all fours because that shit was _not_ cool. At all.

The lump – really, he should stop calling it that – seemed to almost... shy away from him. It was also shaking, terribly, and unless it was just charging up to jump out and attack Stiles like some demented pokemon he really should see if the vaguely person-shaped lump was, in fact, a vaguely lump-shaped person in need of help. Stiles inwardly cursed the terrible light situation of his street as his brain registers the strong stench of blood and he gets his head out of his ass and runs forward. He flips the switch to his outdoor lamp, dropping his things on the other side of his door to kneel next to the person, a hand hovering uncertainly as he takes in the awful state of his visitor under the glare of the light.

Keeping his eyes on the glowing blue irises of the other man, he slips a hand inside the pocket of his pants for his phone. Careful not to startle the stranger, Stiles asks slowly, “I’m gonna call 911... Okay...?”

The man leans away from him with a whine that pulls on what he thought before to be his nonexistent heartstrings and flashes him with what looks to be fangs, though the action felt decidedly weak.

Stiles finally notices what the man has been guarding from him and he can’t help his sharp intake of breath.

Furrowing his brows in decision, he scrolls through his contacts and presses call. He keeps his gaze on the stranger, who was now staring at him through half-lidded eyes, still their bright blue, though he seemed to be struggling to stay conscious.

“Scott. Scott, are you there? I need your help.”

“Stiles – What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. But I need you to make a house visit right now, buddy. Bring all your fancy medical intern things.”

“Yes, of course, be there in fifteen.”

“Thanks, dude. See you.”

Stiles pocketed his phone and got up to unlock his door, already thinking of how he was going to drag in the now unconscious pregnant man with glowy eyes as comfortable as possible and trying to remember where his first aid kit was, if he even had one.

Pregnant man with glowy eyes. Oh boy.

When you eliminate the impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, indeed.


	2. Unsuspecting Pregnant Werewolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Saturday: Morning II]

Contrary to popular belief, though Stiles has a bit of definition he’s quite proud of, his upper body strength isn’t all that amazing. So he abandons all pretenses that he’s going to carry his guest upstairs and, instead, makes his horrendously slow trek to his sofa with the man cradled – as best as he can – in his arms. It helps that for a pregnant – ? – person with broad shoulders he’s quite light, though that is definitely an added worry.

The man curls towards him and fidgets, frowning, when Stiles manages to set him down without all out dropping him. He must be cold.

Hurrying to retrieve his things from the doorstep, he pulls the door shut to keep the cold out; not bothering to lock so Scott could just come in, in a bit. He runs around the house looking for a basin, letting out a triumphant cry when he spots a bucket. He grabs a clean wash cloth and goes to his bathroom to fill his bucket up with warm water; taking another wash cloth just to be sure. He stares at his bar of soap for a few seconds before snatching it up as well.

Stiles then realizes he should have lain a blanket under the man to avoid getting his couch covered in  _things_ but that’s a problem for later. He still retrieves a blanket, nonetheless, because his guest should be cold.

 

* * *

 

He’s kneeling next to the sofa and wiping gently at the man’s face with his soaped-up cloth when Scott comes flopping in like a lost puppy.

“Stiles?! Stiles?! Where are you? Are you okay?! I saw blood – Holy shit.”

Stiles guesses he would have stood there staring with his dumb puppy eyes if not for all the training Deaton and working in the Emergency Room have drilled into him. So Scott immediately drops to his knees beside Stiles instead and Stiles hands him the other wash cloth. Scott goes to work on one of the man’s arms.

“Is he... What... There’s a lot of blood.” Scott says, running his eyes up and down the man to assess the damage.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Stiles makes a face when Scott sends him a hurt look.

“Sorry, man. I just. Yeah. There’s a lot of blood and he looks terrible but he doesn’t seem wounded anywhere? Not a single scratch so far, I swear.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“It’s like he was rolled into mud and other... things, but that’s it.” He figures Scott can smell the overwhelming scent of semen both long dried and fresh so he doesn’t mention it.

“There’s also... That.” And both he and Scott eye the huge smooth stretch of skin that covered what was, presumably, a baby bump. They share a look and Scott touches his wash cloth to it lightly and  _of course_  that was the moment their mystery man chooses to wake up.

The man struggles and lets out a fucking  _roar_  and Stiles and Scott work to hold him still. “What the hell is he, dude?!” Scott cries, a touch hysterical, staring at the man’s glowing blue eyes and the fangs bore threateningly at them.

“Hell if I know!” Stiles shouts back, pressing down from his firm hold of the crook of the man’s neck, where the skin curved down to shoulders. The man whines and whimpers at them before long, trying to get away and curl back into his ball. The two, terribly confused, return to gentle washing and hushing whispers of clumsy comfort.

It takes a while to get his guest somewhat clean. They mostly ignore the man’s unwavering stare because he no longer lifts a single finger in protest of their touch, as long as they don’t linger too long on his baby bump.

Stiles leans back and plops his dirty rag into the bucket, tugging the blanket to go up and over the silent man. Once their mystery guy is suitably tucked in, he looks at Scott, who returns the look with a frown.

“What are you doing?” Scott asks after a few seconds filled with their loud awkward breathing.

“What?” Stiles huffs defensively, eyes narrowed.

“You’re doing things with your face, man. It’s distracting me. Stop.”

“Doing things with my – what are you talking about?!”

“You’re doing it. Right now. Ssh.” And Scott, the audacity in that one, pushes Stiles none too gently out of the way so he could look their mystery man in the face.

“Are you in...” He glances back at Stiles, who must have made some ridiculous expression again because Scott quickly turns back. Which,  _rude_. “Do you... understand English?” He ignores Stiles’ snort over his shoulder.

Mystery man just stares at Scott, though his eyebrows furrow a bit... ish.

Stiles opens his mouth and through some weird creepy bro-senses or something Scott reaches back to clamp a palm over said mouth without even moving his head.  _Fuck you too, bro._

Leaving Stiles to grumble against his palm, Scott tries again, “What’s your name?” He keeps his tone light and as conversational as he can.

For a second Scott thinks he’d just get stared at again but after a short growl, he makes out some syllables. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that...?”

“... Derek.”

“Huh.”

“He said his name was Derek, Stiles.”

“I know that! I just figured it would be something... Different, you know.”

Derek was now eyeing Stiles as if  _he_  was the one with the glowing eyes and the supernatural baby bump.

“Like something more alien-y or medieval or whatever. I don’t know! I’m just saying,  _Derek_  seems like a pretty average name!”

Unbelievably enough, Derek rolls his eyes at him and Stiles just gapes.

“Did you just roll your little blue flashlights at me???  _Dude,_ ” He whines at Scott, “Did you see that? Did you  _see_  that?!”

Scott, dearly beloved best friend of his since they were diaper-buddies, betrays him via eye-roll too.

“Oh my god. Mutiny.  _Mutiny!_ ” And he gets up, taking the bucket now filled with murky water, with him. He rinses and scrubs the wash cloths clean, leaving Scott to do his thing.

Stiles figures he’d be more help finding Derek some comfortable clothes. He spots his forgotten curly fries and perks up, maybe Derek would want some. Oh wait. Is it alright for pregnant people to have junk food...? Huh. Well, maybe Derek can have a little bit.

Then Stiles remembers the fangs and the glowing eyes and he suddenly hopes to god that Derek doesn’t pull some Hannibal shit and eat Scott while they’re alone in his living room.

 

* * *

 

“Hi, Derek. My name’s Scott, I’m Stiles’ friend and I’m here to help. Are you in any pain?”

Silence.

Scott frowns. Derek stares.

“Only... You don’t seem to have visible wounds anywhere. I need to know if anything hurts so that we can make it better.”

This seems to upset Derek because he begins to frown.

“Derek?”

And Derek gives a slight shake of the head. Scott takes it to mean that the man is in no pain.

“What’s the last thing you remember Derek? How did you meet Stiles?”

Scott gets no response for that and he sighs. He takes the figurative bull by its horns and just blurts it out, “What are you Derek and how in the world are you pregnant?”

There’s an outraged screech just behind the sofa and Stiles throws a pair of pajama pants at his face. “Oh my god Scott what is wrong with you?!”

“Werewolf.”

The air inside the room seems to freeze and for a few heartbeats no one says a thing.

Scott has a hilariously indignant expression on his face like he can’t believe Derek’s shitting him like this when the aforementioned man is lying on the sofa with glowing blue eyes and is visibly very pregnant.  _Really_ , Scott?

Heh, glowing blue eyes; he wonders if Derek could walk through walls, disappear and fly, and chuckles internally.

Stiles rounds the sofa so he can see Derek, snatching up the pair of pants he threw at Scott. “Werewolf, huh? Cool.”

Scott turns to flash him his indignant face and Stiles just widens his eyes at him with a shrug. Scott can be  _such_ a drama queen, after-all. So, Stiles had a werewolf-guest; a very male, very pregnant, werewolf-guest. He can deal with that.

Derek makes to move and gets stopped simultaneously.

“You should stay still.” Scott;

“You should stay.” Stiles.

Again, Scott gives Stiles a dumb look. “What? I can’t send out a pregnant werewolf into this cruel world. He’ll get filleted out there, Scott. His little werewolf babies will get dissected,” An enraged roar; Stiles winces and throws Derek an apologetic look, “He can stay with me until we figure things out.”

“I know you’ll let him stay. I’m just surprised you’re giving in so gracefully.” Scott explains, voice coated in disbelief as he stands and brushes off his knees.

“It’s been a long day, man. I’ll freak out after I get some sleep.”

Scott nods and spares another concerned look at the werewolf, “You should let him bathe before sleeping, to get properly cleaned up. He could probably use the warmth of it too, help him relax.”

Stiles was nodding along until, “You know I should probably tell Deaton about this, to check up on the,” Scott gestures to Derek’s baby bump with the subtlety of a rampaging elephant, his voice low, “Make sure the pregnancy’s going okay.”

“But Deaton’s all sketchy and cryptic, man! Who knows what he’ll do to Derek!” Stiles whispers back.

“Stiles. I really think it would be for the best. I don’t know what to do with a male pregnancy, do you?”

“... Well then, I’ll talk to Derek about it, okay? It’s his baby bump, after-all.”

“Okay. I’ll be going now. Take care of him.” Scott relents, patting him on the shoulder. He throws Derek a friendly wave, “You take care of yourself, Derek. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

“Good night man, thanks a lot for coming.”

“No problem bro. Good night.”

Suddenly hit with fatigue, Stiles runs a hand down his face and goes to lock the door. He turns to face Derek and finds the man’s bright blues have eased up a bit; though the werewolf was still not making much sound.

“Hey big guy, you feeling okay?”

Derek gives a small nod, moving to sit up. Stiles rushes forward to help and stops when Derek flinches away from his hand. “Sorry, sorry. No touchy, got it.” He smiles hesitantly and hopes he doesn’t come across as any sort of creepy. He thinks the glower on Derek’s face eases up and counts that as a win.

“You want to take a shower before bed? Or, I’ve got some spare clothes right here, so you can pull them on and sleep now, too. Your choice.”

“Shower... please.” Derek’s voice is naturally soft, it appears; and it’s also endlessly attractively soothing.

In an endearing way. An endearing and strictly platonic way, mind you, because Stiles does not perv on gorgeous and defenseless unsuspecting pregnant werewolves who need his help. Nope. Because he is not indecent. At all. So hush, lonely single hormones.

“Right this way, then, my good sir ~” He grins easily, leading Derek to the bathroom.

“I’ll leave these clothes here.” He sets them neatly atop the closed toilet lid, “I hope they fit comfortably. Feel free to tell me if you need anything. I’ll be right downstairs. Bedroom’s through this door right here,” He goes and opens his room, taking a surreptitious peek inside to check if it’s decent. “So if you want to settle in, bed’s all yours.”

Derek looks at his feet for a while and Stiles patiently waits for him to speak, or move, raise an eyebrow or something, anything; he waits for Derek to react.

Then a thought comes to mind, “Do you... need help?” And Stiles is sure he flails, and that his cheeks were red; because, somehow, helping Derek bathe is more intimate than wiping him down, in his messed up brain.

He sees Derek flush and it’s awful of him but it makes him feel better. It has nothing to do with the flattering emphasis the color brands on the werewolf’s cheekbones, nope. Because his hormones are acting like teenagers, right now, rebellious and inappropriate; and therefore, he must ignore them.

“No.” Derek mumbles and Stiles nods. He turns to make his way downstairs when Derek speaks again, “... Stiles?”

“Yes?” He thinks his response was hopelessly eager but who cares. He was taking care of a pregnant werewolf, sue him, he wants to help.

“Thank you.” And the werewolf gently shuts the bathroom door.

Really, Stiles’ heart had no business jumping around his ribcage all giddily like that.


	3. Oh Alpha, My Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Saturday: Morning III]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a bit of insight about Derek's situation through his point of view. Strong hints of abuse and... Well... I'm not sure how to warn for this. 
> 
> Nothing horrible graphically described as of yet. *shudders

Stiles strips his sofa cushions, first of all, and throws them in his hamper to be dealt with later. Then he goes to open his fridge to see if he can give Derek anything to drink. He crows in triumph at the carton of milk only to bring it up to his nose and – ick. Okay. No. So he throws that out.

He settles for juice instead, that’s healthy, right? Stiles notes to himself to look up pregnancy facts afterwards and he stuffs a handful of curly fries in his mouth, idly wondering how far along Derek could be.

 

* * *

 

Derek scrubs along his arm until it turns red-raw before his healing returns the skin to smoothness, and he does it again.

The bar of soap slips through his shaking fingers and his claws pop out in alarm, an apology half-past his lips before he remembers he’s alone. His claws retract and he picks it up, making sure to create a thick lather to cover himself in his new Alpha’s scent – but his Stiles is _human_ , can humans be Alpha? And then he scoffs at himself for such a silly thought.

Derek is an Omega. Of course, everyone else is Alpha.

He scrubs himself raw and covers each inch of skin with his new Alpha’s scent. The old Alphas always got upset with him when he smelled used. It was unclean and irresponsible of Derek to carry the scent of others when it was time to serve new Alphas; because how dare he show up to them being anything less than his very best.

He presses a warm palm against the taut skin protecting his cubs, and gives it a gentler rubbing; Omegas must take care of cubs atop all else. He didn’t want his Stiles to think of him as a bad Omega after the human had been so nice and kind, even calling his human Scott, who smelled of dull sickness and yet healing at the same time; which had confused Derek’s nose. They cleaned him too, the human Alphas, and Derek has never been cleaned before by anyone else aside from family all those years ago. He feels a familiar ache in his chest and rubs it away.

He’s never been alone with a new Alpha this long without being taken and Derek wonders at that, before realization settles deep into his gut and he pales; breath stuttering in horror. His Stiles didn’t touch him for pleasure for so long because he was a dirty Omega. He had failed to present his very best and had even rejected the new Alpha’s touch earlier, when he was still muddled by the foreign scents and he didn’t know where he was. He had forgotten his training and has been a bad Omega; his old Alphas would not take kindly to hear of his mistake.

He hurries in the shower – his Stiles has been so gracious and he repays him by being irresponsible – and dries quickly to not ruin any furniture or possession of his new Alpha by dripping water all over the place, he’s been scolded too many times to not know better.

He stops, staring at the clothing his Alpha left him, and is hit by confusion once again; his new Stiles was so bizarre. None of the old Alphas have ever told him to cover himself and even before the clothes, his Stiles had concealed Derek’s flesh under a thick blanket.

He looks down at his body and wonders if his new Alpha doesn’t find him attractive, after-all.

Irrationally enough, this makes him sad, and he gives himself a mental reprimand that the Alphas are fully entitled to their opinions and Derek, as an Omega, must not think of himself so highly that he’d assume his new Alpha would find him aesthetically-pleasing.

Though he knows he would still be able to offer the Alpha pleasure even if he found Derek distasteful; he’s had a lot of old Alphas who’ve said he was no good for anything but still took their pleasure from his hole and his Stiles has let him in his territory and cleaned him and smiled at him.

... So Derek relents and picks up the shirt. He’s hit with the comforting scent of his new Alpha and he buries his face in the cloth. Come to think of it, the blanket had also been thick with his Stiles’ scent. Maybe clothing him has more to do with scenting than finding Derek unappealing. This sets the werewolf a bit at ease.

He pulls the soft cotton over his head and straightens it down, it’s a big shirt and his Alpha probably did his best to find clothing that would fit Derek and it’s not an uncomfortable fit, really, but a little of his stomach shows and he fears his Stiles would blame him for not being a good Omega and fitting into the clothes his new Alpha have provided him with.

He tugs at it uselessly.

Derek holds up the next piece of clothing, which looked to be tiny breeches, and he flushes at the indecency of wearing something like it; at the same time that he feels himself go guiltily wet at the thought alone. His new Alpha was interesting, to say the least, and he wishes he gets to spend a lot of time with this one before his main Alpha decides to take him back.

He takes the miniature breeches in hand and thinks about leaving the sleeping pants before deciding he could place it in his Alpha’s chambers instead of just leaving it lying around and risking his Stiles’ wrath.

He listens and hears his Stiles’ heartbeat downstairs just as the Alpha promised. Derek guesses he was supposed to ready himself in his Alpha’s bed and goes to do just that.

He climbs the bed and buries his face in the Alpha’s pillows, nosing and nibbling on the tiny breeches at the same time. Derek feels his cock stir and he shudders, he’s never had an Alpha smell this good. It’s a struggle to find a position that’s not straining, with his little ones curled within him, but he keeps his hips raised in wanton offer; for the first time feeling no ugly fear or scenting no stench of reluctance from his pores.

He wants to do this. He wants to give pleasure to this strange generous Alpha for taking care of him when Derek was not his problem to deal with. He feels his hole get wetter and he gasps pleasantly, in surprise; panting into his Stiles’ obscene breeches. He wanted this new Alpha so much he was giving Derek pleasure without commanding him or hurting him or even being in the same room.

He’s tempted to sink fingers in himself and just wipe away the wetness on the sheets, his Stiles was human, he couldn’t possibly find out; but Derek didn’t want to be disobedient for his Stiles, not for this Alpha, no. So he settles for holding himself open with both hands stretching his cheeks apart. It’s a bit tricky, distributing his weight so he doesn’t crush the cubs, but it’s worth it for the cool breeze teasing at his sensitive entrance. He moans, unabashed, and moans again, louder, when he hears footsteps coming closer; anticipation lighting his nerve endings and Derek takes a moment to wonder if he’s gone insane because he feels as ignited as if he were in heat.

Again, he breathes in the scent of his Alpha’s tiny breeches and a whine tears itself from his throat and Derek rocks into thin air, aching in want.

 

* * *

 

Stiles was already walking up to check on Derek when he hears the noises and he rushes to his bedroom in worry.

“Derek! Derek, are you okay?”

He throws the door open and squeaks, feeling incredibly faint.

**_jesus fucking christ lord have mercy_ **

In a mirror of their first encounter, Stiles clutches the glass of juice and his curly fries to his chest for strength.

He was bringing Derek food!

He was bringing Derek nourishment!

He was trying to be nice!

“ _Stiles_ ~ !”

But God is testing him or punishing him for something awful he’d done in his past life because this is _ridiculous_.

Therefore Stiles steps back out and calmly closes the door. He presses the cool glass to his heated cheek and leans back against the opposite wall. He’s shaking as he mentally talks himself out of touching his traitorous dick, clutching his curly fries tight else his fingers betray him too.

He doesn’t think he can handle talking himself out of touching his dick _out loud_ because then he’d have to hear himself say things like, “You will not touch yourself and get off to the thought – to the fucking actuality – of Derek, gorgeous _pregnant_ werewolf Derek, presenting his fucking ass and doing _things_ in _your bed_.” Really, he was only human.

So Stiles stifles a moan, biting his lip, and humps the air once in utter defeat and frustration.

Of course the action spills some of the juice and he gets a hold of himself, trying harder to reel in his overwhelming arousal.

And then, Derek actually opens the door and stares at him with this lost expression that rivals Scott’s best puppy dog face; still half-naked and sporting a half-chub.

Oh my god, why him, _why?_

* * *

 

He gets Derek into the soft pajama pants he was supposed to get into and puts the boxers aside when Derek just stares at them, face red. He tries not to think of the dark spot left on it from the cloth being in Derek’s mouth and there was actual _nibbling going on and he was not thinking about it._

They sit on the floor because Stiles can’t really look at the bed right now. He’s not an asshole though so he makes sure Derek’s comfortably propped on some pillows cradling the glass of juice in both hands and it’s kind of adorable the way he looks like a little werewolf momma in her nest except werewolves aren’t birds and birds are the ones with nests and get it together Stilinski god what time is it even anyway?

They stare at each other for a long time and this would really go much faster if Derek could tell him things; but the wolf is obviously waiting for him to start and he looks uncomfortable and pained and Stiles didn’t want to be stressing out a pregnant werewolf, okay?

So his expression softens and he calls Derek’s attention gently, “Derek? Hey, big guy. What are you thinking about?”

Stiles thinks Derek won’t answer him but he keeps the man’s gaze and he watches those eyebrows grow increasingly closer together.

“You closed the door.” Derek states, a touch accusingly.

And Stiles feels his whole face flame, “Whoa, Derek, tell us what you really think,” he mutters, caught off-guard.

“I was offering myself for your use. I cleaned myself thoroughly and I was already wet and healed again, ready for you, but you closed the door and –“

“Stop! Stop! Oh my god.” Stiles yelps putting his face in both palms and hiding from Derek’s hurt stare. He feels his dick twitch valiantly in protest. Not now, littlest Stilinski.

“I’m sorry, Alpha. If I knew you found me so abhorrent...” and Stiles hears Derek’s voice catch. He looks up in alarm to see those glowing blue eyes dull until they turned into the most fascinating green. Stiles’ eyes widen in panic when those green eyes got the shiny film indicative of someone holding back definite tears.

It’s heart-breaking, honestly, looking at Derek then; his face flushed and expression tight in tangible embarrassment, he was _ashamed_ ; because he thinks Stiles – a complete stranger to him – possibly rejected Derek due to somehow finding him unattractive and this baffles Stiles because in no universe is it right to come on to a pregnant person, or any person, in need of help in some sick twisted form of repayment.

Then, something else catches Stiles’ attention, “What did you call me?”

 

* * *

 

“... Alpha?” Derek breathes, hesitant, because what if he got it all wrong and humans couldn’t be Alphas, after-all? But he could feel his Stiles’ presence all around him and he feels the will to submit consuming him. It makes him feel safe and secure; and this makes Derek positive that Stiles can – _is_ his new Alpha.

An Alpha that has rejected him sexually but his Alpha all the same.

 

* * *

 

Stiles glances at his bedside table and frowns, it was nearing 4AM.

Alpha, Derek had called him Alpha. What does that mean? Well, obviously it meant Derek deferred to him in some way. He was no stranger to the whole Alpha/Beta dynamic – everyone who’s spent enough time online would no doubt encounter it at some point.

He sighs and figures it was too early for this and really, Derek must be tired, too, so they better get some sleep.

“We’ll need to talk about this Derek, but maybe it’s better if we both get some sleep, yeah?”

He sees Derek begin to slouch and curl into himself and feels like an ass, “Hey,” Stiles places a hand totally platonically on a pajama-clad knee, “Hey, look at me.”

He meets Derek’s now green eyes and he smiles, “You are hot, okay, totally hot, like super sizzlin’. Phew ~ is it hot in here? Nope. It’s all you, wolfy. 10/10 would totally keep,” He stutters a bit and mentally panics and wow did he just say he’d keep Derek what. “Hot, hottie, hot, hot. So.” He coughs into a hand. “We’ll talk, okay? You sleep tight,” He helps Derek settle back into his bed, “And I’ll be downstairs keeping you and your little wolfy safe.” Stiles throws in a playful wink. Derek’s cheeks color even though his brows stay furrowed, like he’s trying to figure out Stiles.

Stiles just relishes in the knowledge that he’s totally got game and Derek is, obviously, into his game.

He takes out sleeping clothes and bids a sweet, “Good night Derek ~” before he saunters into the bathroom to wash up.

He’s disturbed, horribly so, and Derek obviously has some sort of misconceptions about sex, at the very least. Then, a horrible thought crosses his mind about Derek’s pregnancy or specifically, the conception of said little wolf.

He hopes to God he has it all wrong.


	4. Sleep Tight; Don't Let the Drama Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Saturday: Morning IV]

Of course, when Stiles gets downstairs, he’s fully onboard the idea of collapsing right there and then, curling up atop his fluffy carpet. He realizes the sofa is not an option right now until he gets it cleaned, he’d have to google that, and there’s still the blood to deal with on his porch if he remembers Scott’s words, correctly.

He figures he better check the situation on his porch under the daylight and does just that. Dragging himself towards his front door, he opens it a bit to poke his head out. Stiles throws a speculative glance down the blood stains. He tilts his head from side to side trying to imagine what it would look like from the outside. He looks at his stupid gate and looks back at his doorstep. It’s a fair distance and really, it wasn’t a lot... ish. Admittedly, it was more blood than he was expecting but it shouldn’t be enough to cause his neighbors any alarm and have them calling the police on him... Right?

Really, he was running on so few brain cells at that moment he’s about ready to just say fuck it all.

He throws another hopeful glance down the stain and shuts his door. He’ll deal with that later.

Stiles goes to his cupboard under the stairs – yeah, there may have been a Harry Potter geek out where he tried to force his long limbs inside that thing before he accepted that Harry must have been a tiny kid; to be fair he was a 20-something adult so, um, that happened – to get the spare blankets and pillows he keeps for when his many friends, and by _many_ he means Scott, really, who was he kidding, come to stay over. He even has a fold-up mattress, so, there’s that.

He moves his coffee table and sets up in front of the couch, thanking everything that he hoarded on the fluffiest of blankets to ever exist when he first moved in as he gets comfortable in his blanket cocoon. Stiles breathes a contented sigh and closes his tired eyes.

Naturally, that was the moment he hears his alarm from somewhere down the hall.

 _Work_.

How could he forget about work?!

He makes an inhuman sound burying his face in the pillows before remembering he has a werewolf upstairs who most likely has awesome hearing, if pop culture is to be believed, and scrambles up to his feet to shut the now infuriating sound of his sixteen year old self screeching out the Wannabe lyrics with the song playing in the background – shut up, it was funny at that moment, okay? And he’s kept it his alarm for 6 years because it worked. Nothing gets him out of bed quicker than embarrassing remnants of his puberty.

Stiles presses his alarm tone off and mentally lists off reasons why he couldn’t come to work as he scrolls for his boss’ number. No way was he leaving Derek today. He can claim a sick day no problem... Maybe.

There was a click from the other line, the disapproval palpable regardless of the following silence.

“ _Lydia_ ~” Stiles croons, “My lady, my queen, goddess of my heart –“

“Stiles.” Lydia stops him, her voice sweeter and absolutely terrifying.

Stiles gulps and pales, hoping it wasn’t audible through the phone. His head throbbed. Really, he just wanted to sleep forever right now.

“Lydia. I can’t come in to work today.” He says, voice even, trying to convey how important this is to him. Who knows what Derek would do if he wakes to an empty house? The wolf might not even feed himself or worse a stranger could break in and take advantage of the striking and incredibly pliant man.

The thought of a cruel faceless stranger touching Derek or even seeing him vulnerable and so prettily flushed sends an irrational anger coursing through Stiles’ nerves. He inhales sharply and hears Lydia asking him if he was alright.

“I’m – There’s been an emergency. I’m so sorry. Everything you need immediately I’ve finished last night, proofed and e-mailed. The other folios from the team are sitting on my desk if you have to double-check anything. I’m sorry, Lyds – I swear I’ll come in early on Monday – In fact, if you need me at all today I’d happily work from my computer here. I just – I just really need to stay home today...” He trails off weakly, realizing his excuses were pathetic and now he has to leave Derek all alone or he’d lose his job and then how would he take care of Derek and the cub?

... Not that they were his exclusive responsibility for the long-run. Or anything.

Right. Work.

“Stiles? I swear to god Stilinski if you just continue to breathe heavily down my phone at 5 o’clock in the morning I will change my mind and drag you to work myself.” Wait. What.

“Sorry. What?”

“Stiles.” Lydia sighed, her voice soft, “I said it’s alright. You can take today off. I’ll call you if I need you but I’m pretty sure I won’t.” She huffs teasingly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me.”

“Lydia...”

“... I’m your friend first before anything else.” Even before she was Stiles’ boss. They’ve come so far together.

Neither of them says anything and the silence turns even more awkward.

“Now if you’re quite done wasting my time, _some_ of us actually have work to do.” Ah, there we go.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Lydia.”

And she hangs up.

Relieved, Stiles puts his phone on silent and brings it with him to his mattress. He curls up again beneath his mess of blankets and finally drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Stiles feels himself wake slowly, keeping his eyes closed, content to drift. He feels amazingly comfy which is weird because he’s slept with these blankets before and they’ve never been so heavenly. He inhales and groans pleasantly because something near him smells so nice. He buries his nose closer and admittedly nuzzles the nice-smelling object.

He should obviously sleep in the living room more often because waking up feeling like this is wonderful.

Then he remembers why, exactly, he spent the night – better half of the day – on his spare mattress.

_Derek._

The thought snaps his eyes open.

It takes a while for his brain to register the extra presence on his mattress and when it does, he coos internally, consciously holding the werewolf curled around him closer. There go his morals.

Stiles never claimed to be a good man. He can only resist so much.

How can he extract himself from the warm cuddly werewolf who apparently sneaked into his bed and snuggled into his side sometime during his sleep?

He breathes in deeply and possibly melts, why does Derek smell so _good_?

The man in question shifts in his hold and presses closer, Stiles feeling Derek’s healthy baby bump pressing against him and oh. That’s certainly nice. He swears to everything he holds dear that he does not snuffle in contentment. He does, however, rub a warm palm gently against the little werewolf baby.

He hears Derek gasp and feels a burst of hot breath tease along the suddenly heated skin of his neck, right where the wolf’s face is tucked firmly against it, and freezes. Okay, no more happy snuggly times for them. _Shut it, littlest Stilinski._

Lest any of his other body parts decide to betray him again, he carefully removes himself from Derek’s personal space and sits up. Derek releases a soft whine before biting it off abruptly, worrying at his bottom lip. “Oh, hey, none of that, Derek.” Stiles admonishes gently, reaching to touch the werewolf’s cheek before deciding he really had no business being that tactile and changing course to ruffle the other man’s hair.

Derek’s eyebrows don’t smoothen but he does release his lip, flushed and shiny from nibbling on it with his little bunny teeth and goddammit Stilinski stop objectifying the man.

Stiles plops down unattractively beside Derek again, farther away and half-off their shared mattress. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling and talks, “Couldn’t sleep?” Maybe like this he could concentrate.

Derek, the adorable and extremely unhelpful fluff-butt that he’s turning out to be just shuffles closer, resting his head cautiously on Stiles’ shoulder, tucking in his legs, and dragging the sheets to cover them both again.

Stiles feels his heart swell and simultaneously feels like a horrible person for raising a hand and holding Derek’s head against him as the werewolf goes back to sleep.

He shouldn’t be taking advantage like this.

Derek doesn’t even know him.

He doesn’t even know Derek.

Derek is pregnant.

Derek is a werewolf for fuck’s sake.

Derek is pregnant.

They literally just met on Stiles’ doorstep oh my god.

Stiles hasn’t been in a relationship for years, he’s totally projecting on Derek.

Stiles is projecting his lonely single feelings on Derek.

Derek is pregnant.

Somewhere out there is the other parent to Derek’s magical werewolf baby.

Derek isn’t his to keep.

He leans his body towards Derek and places a hand on the arm the werewolf draped so casually across his chest, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Are their feelings too early? Their feelings are too early. They just met fuq. Idk. I don't even know what's happening in this fic. It's just been feelings and boring things. Guh. No. Leave me alone. *slams face into wall.


	5. Scream Your Throat Raw, Little Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied bestiality. Though really, we have werewolves. They technically aren't human. Violence? Gore? Description of non-con. Proceed with caution.
> 
> Please suggest tags you think I should add in warning. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. :(
> 
> [Saturday: Afternoon]

Claws dig into his skin, leaving ragged gouges in their wake; the thick coppery scent of his own blood filling his nostrils and further fuddling his already drunken senses.

He tries to count the hearts beating around him but the sounds are drowned by the wet slapping of bare skin; the lewd moans and unashamed growls, the coarse laughter; and his own heart beating wild inside his chest, caught up in the frenzy of this month’s heat.

The haze of need doesn’t block out the pain.

For several times, he feels his body pried open and torn apart; his werewolf healing slowly knitting the damaged tissues back together only for claws to tear into his flesh with unsympathetic vigor before the mending’s even allowed to finish.

He hears the sound of his bones crack and the taunting squelch of blood, sweat, and breeding fluids.

He feels his bruised cheek rub harshly against the forest floor and tastes the earth as his body is pushed and pulled, passed along between greedy palms and even more eager paws.

He wets the soil beneath him with his tears, and amidst the fog of his heat, thinks, _I don’t want to die_.

The werewolf formerly shoving his ugly plump cock down his throat pulls out. Another one tugs his head forcefully backwards and noses at the curve of his ear in a mock of a lover’s caress. The ugly cock is held up towards him again and the owner traces his bottom lip with its head, smearing his scent.

“That’s right, little Omega, let us hear your cries for more.” He teases pleasantly, and Derek becomes aware he’s been screaming his throat raw.

 

* * *

 

Stiles startles awake to gut-wrenching cries and rolls over to see Derek shaking, curled away from him.

Another scream hurtles out from the sleeping werewolf’s throat and he steadies the trashing male, calling out Derek’s name repeatedly.

Stiles pats at Derek’s cheek in earnest, “Derek, hey. Buddy, you have to wake up for me. Derek, come on. Come on, big guy. Please wake up.”

He runs a hand down clammy skin and is promptly caught off-guard by a clawed hand when Derek wakes. Stiles curses in surprise and pulls away to inspect his bleeding shoulder. He sees Derek staring at him in horror and he reaches with his other palm to cradle the man’s cheek and rub his thumb back and forth the cold skin in comfort. “Hello wolfy. Quite the nightmare you were having there. You okay?”

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Stiles gets that a lot, actually.

“You’re bleeding!” Derek pushes himself up and carefully lifts Stiles’ sleeve to see the wound. Stiles winces as the cloth drags against it. “Relax, it’s not that bad, dude.”

“I hurt you!”

“Derek, seriously – Oh.”

Stiles watches in fascination as dark lines run along the werewolf’s arm and lets out a breathy, _wow_ , when he feels the sting of the wound recede until it was nothing.

Derek continues to look at the scratch forlornly and Stiles laughs, drawing the other’s attention to his face. He leans forward, going for a hug, and stops, awkwardly placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder. Derek has no such qualms and barrels into his uninjured side, tucking his face in Stiles’ neck and nosing at his jaw – in apology, he supposes.

Stiles laughs again, warmth curling in his chest. He rubs a palm up and down Derek’s back, leaning backwards on his other hand. “You dramawolf.” He chides playfully, nuzzling his cheek against Derek. “I can patch this up really quick. You’ll see.”

“But I hurt you.” The werewolf mumbles into his shirt, a touch petulant.

Stiles huffs, and ruffles Derek’s hair. “It was an accident. You didn’t mean it, did –“

“NO!” Derek cries, pulling away to meet Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles finds all this amusing, of course, and just chuckles. The hand he had buried in Derek’s hair moving around to curl loosely against his throat. “There, you see? Everything’s alright.”

He thinks he sees frustration on Derek’s face before the other reluctantly nods in acceptance.

“Come on, let’s make something to eat. You can wait in the kitchen while I hunt down my First Aid.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles lets Derek clumsily bandage his shoulder. He bites his lip to prevent from giggling at the ridiculously serious face the werewolf had as he concentrated on ‘making Stiles better.’

Admittedly, the scratch was a bit deeper than Stiles originally thought but it would heal, and Derek had already dealt with the pain.

They were sat around Stiles’ dining table, waiting for a delivery. Turns out he had needed to do the groceries like, two days ago. He hums to himself quietly, watching the werewolf.

Stiles sees Derek suddenly stop, perking up and facing the living room. He worries for a heartbeat before noting that the man didn’t look alarmed.

“What is it, Derek?”

“Something’s... buzzing? Vibrating. Something’s vibrating.” And his face contorts into confusion.

Stiles decides it’s absolutely unfair for a grown man to pull off looking that cute in his presence, really, what did Stiles do in his life to deserve this?

“Vibrating...?” He goes to check and Derek immediately moves to follow but Stiles pats him reassuringly on the shoulder to indicate he stay put.

He finds his phone lit up, and buzzing on top of the sheets, screen showing an incoming call from Scott, “Hey, bro. What’s up?”

“Stiles, hey. How are you guys? How’s Derek?” The guy in question was now standing by his side, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on the hem of his shirt. Stiles touches Derek’s wrist and rubs his thumb against the skin back and forth, giving the werewolf a small smile, “He’s doing good, I think, relatively speaking.” And he shifts his gaze away to frown, suddenly remembering the troubling circumstances they found Derek in and the nightmare the other just woke up from.

“Did you... Have you asked him about Dr. Deaton yet?” Scott’s voice is cautious, soft; noticing Stiles’ own change in mood.

“I...” He meets Derek’s curious eyes, the other probably hearing their conversation perfectly. “I’ll do it right now. I’ll call you back, yeah?”

“Yes. That would be good. I’ll ask the Doc when he’s available as soon as possible.”

“Scott –“

“Don’t worry, dude. Of course I won’t give him... _details_. I’ll just say I might need his help for something private. I’ll wait for Derek’s permission, man.”

“Yes, of course you will. Sorry.”

“Nah. It’s all good. Call me later, ‘kay.”

“Yeah. Bye, dude. Thanks.”

“Bye. Tell Derek I said Hi!”

He looks at Derek who’s looking confused again and snorts, “Derek says Hi, too.”

Derek scowls at him and Stiles laughs openly as he clicks the call to end, which causes Derek to look confused again, so Stiles figures he isn’t aware that his face does the most amusing things.

Stiles leads Derek to sit on the mattress. Once he makes sure Derek’s comfortably nestled in the softest parts of the blankets, he sits cross-legged in front of him and takes both of the man’s hands in his own. Platonically. Yes. People do it all the time.

“Derek?”

“... Alpha?”

“You can call me, Stiles.”

“But – I...” A pause, wherein Stiles fears he’d send Derek into a panic attack and was going to agree to being called Alpha as much as Derek wants when, “Okay... Stiles.” He whispers in obvious reluctance, but Stiles will think of that as progress.

“Scott... You remember Scott? My friend that helped clean you up earlier?”

“Yes. I remember Stiles’ friend.”

“See. He’s worried about the cub.”

Derek stays silent but Stiles grows uncomfortable at the change in Derek’s expression, which looked almost like fear. He was expecting indignation not anything resembling fright.

“Scott’s still an intern. He knows about the basics but he’s technically just a student so he doesn’t want to be reckless about this. Basically, he told me to ask you if you’d feel comfortable if we let the Doctor he’s working under, Doctor Deaton, check up on your and the cub’s health. We need to know as much as possible so we wouldn’t endanger either of you because we missed something important, but it’s ultimately your decision, okay?”

“A Doctor?”

“Yes. He’s... A good man. Discreet.”

“... And you trust him?”

“... I trust Scott.” Stiles blurts out, he realizes that’s not as reassuring so he’s quick to add, “And Scott trusts him.”

“Have I... failed you, Alpha?” Derek asks sadly, looking down at their hands and his grip loosening.

Stiles jumps, eyes wide in surprise. “What – Derek – How could you – I mean, where did that come from?”

“You think I haven’t been doing my responsibilities as an Omega.”

“... And what responsibilities are those?”

Derek stares at him as if he can’t quite figure out if Stiles is being deliberately obtuse. There is far too much sass in those eyebrows, Stiles huffs.

“You want to make sure the pregnancy’s going well. You think I haven’t been taking proper care.”

“ _Oh_. No, no, Derek, man.”

“You don’t want me to see a Doctor?”

“I do, but –“

“Then, I don’t get it what –“

“No, no, no, listen. Having a check-up doesn’t mean we think you haven’t done well. It’s just a safety measure. So we can be prepared.”

“But...”

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay. Don’t feel like you have to say, yes.” Stiles remembers Derek’s previous _offer_ of his body and repeats, voice firm, “ _Never_ feel like you have to say, yes.”

Derek stares at him, unsure. So, Stiles adds in a much more gentle tone, “Do you understand?”

It takes a few moments, but Derek eventually nods.

“I... I don’t mind going to see the Doctor.”

“Are you sure?”

“... Yes, Alpha.”

“...”

“Yes... Stiles.”

“Okay, then.” Stiles beams, giving Derek’s hands a slight squeeze. “Don’t be afraid, okay, we’ll be there with you.” He pauses, thoughtful, and adds, “If you want us to be,” Nodding to himself.

“Of course.” Derek agrees with a slight bow of his head.

It’s only a couple of minutes later that the doorbell rings and Stiles gets up to see if it’s their takeout.

“Lydia!” He flails on the spot, pulling the door close behind him as much as possible to hide the living room. Lydia was busy judging the ground, though, and Stiles winces as he remembers the bloodstains he just left to dry. “Uhh...”

“I came by to see if you were alright but it seems you’re doing _quite_ well.” She runs her eyes down his rumpled state dismissively.

“Stilinski, I swear, if you skipped work today so the _littlest Stilinski –“_

“ _Lydia!_ ”

“ _–_ can get a workout –“

“What?! _No!_ ”

She eyes him, severely unimpressed. “I don’t have much time. I’ll need to get back to the office, soon. So I’m just here to drop this by – _Well, hello there_.” Lydia ends, sweetly, turning her attention behind Stiles.

His eyes widen and his heart races nervously as he mentally prepares himself for the clusterfuck that is a very pregnant, very male, very not human Derek Hale. He turns around and breathes a soft sigh of relief when he sees Derek holding one of the thicker blankets in front of him, hiding the supernatural baby bump.

“I’m assuming you have an explanation for this, _Stiles_.”

“Uuh... This is my cousin...”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, unashamedly judging his life choices.

“ _Miguel._ ” And he snorts, covering it with a cough.

Lydia just steps forward and lowers her handful of folios on the end table by the door. “I’m leaving these here. Look through them, Stilinski. I’ll be expecting them on my desk early on Monday.”

She saunters over to Derek, who’s looking at her with great apprehension. Stiles frowns, noticing how Derek seemed to have gone pale.

“Lydia Martin,” Derek takes the hand she offers, if a bit slowly, “It’s absolutely _lovely_ meeting you, Miguel.”

Her business done, she whips around gracefully and leaves with a parting wave, “I’ll see you around,” She smiles sweetly at Derek. “You know how I like my projects done, Stiles.”

“What? I don’t get a smile?”

Stiles sputters as she rolls her eyes at him and gets strawberry blonde locks in his face as she passes by. He closes the door after her and turns to see Derek looking at him. “Derek... What’s wrong?”

And Stiles stays still, at a loss, as Derek just stares back at him, shedding tears silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if it seems like Derek does nothing but be sad and hurt and I don't even know. I'm trying my best to make the story good ily. <3


	6. Hush Now, Little Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Saturday: Afternoon II]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's insanely short. Sorry, loves. D:
> 
> But this is where Saturday ends. Next chapter would be about the next day and should be longer, Dr. Deaton gets involved, after-all. 
> 
> Baaaiiiii ~ :3

Derek’s chest aches with irrational betrayal. The female human had exuded strong pheromones; clearly a powerful Alpha and confident in her every move, regardless of her petite build – dominance hummed tauntingly under her flesh.

First, his Stiles wanted Derek to hide his skin.

Second, the unusual Alpha rejected Derek’s body.

Third, he showed he didn’t trust Derek to have taken care of the cubs and wanted him to see the Doctor.

... Derek should have seen this coming. The human Alpha had been obvious in his disinterest. His Stiles doesn’t think Derek could possibly fulfill any of his needs; that’s why he’s been so gentle.

Why should Derek feel heartache when he had long accepted his responsibilities as a mere Omega wolf?

He blinks in frustration, trying to tell himself to stop the tears lest he gets punished for being immature; but his body betrays him and he feels his claws pop, tearing at the Alpha’s blanket. He inhales sharply and drops the sheet, staring at his Alpha in horror.

Maybe the faster his Stiles passes him on the better, Derek hasn’t been the model Omega. His main Alpha would punish him so when word gets back.

A hand grasps his wrist firmly and Derek realizes that his whole body’s shaking; a sob crawls past his constricting throat and he feels fangs pierce his lips and bites them harder to stop other shameful noises. Derek tries and fails to control his body to stop from shifting but the panic at not being able to only makes him feel worse and his cries force a strong shudder all along his person; sinking deep and rattling his bones.

He doesn’t want his Stiles to give him away. He likes that this Alpha’s held him and made him feel safe; made him feel like a little cub again – held him in their sleep the way his father and his mother had all those years he’s long lost. He doesn’t want this Alpha to give him away; he wants desperately to stay.

In all his encounters with different Alphas it were the wolves with female genitalia that he greatly feared. They claimed him viciously and it always hurt worse than even the most cruel Alpha’s biggest knot tearing at him from inside, poorly stretched and painfully dry.

He doesn’t want to be passed on to this strong female Alpha, commanding submission around the very air she breathes.

He clings to his Stiles, careful to keep his fingers human; he clings frantically and bites his own lip bloody even as the cuts heal over; he bites to minimize his noise. The Alpha holds him back, saying things Derek doesn’t really comprehend. He only knows that his Alpha’s eyes maintain his gaze. He only knows that the human’s face contorts with concern. He only knows the fear that grips him whole because he’s making things worse and he can’t stop. He only knows that he expected things to be different and he’s been arrogant to have hoped so.

He only knows his eyes burn with the cursed blue of his betrayal of his kind as he stares back at his human Alpha.

 

* * *

 

“Derek, Derek, Derek, please. _Please,_ Derek, I don’t understand – Help me understand. Please, you’re scaring me.” Stiles keeps pleading, knowing they’re falling on deaf ears. He hugs Derek close, trying to contain the wolf’s shivers; wishing in vain he could take Derek’s pain away just as the other had done for his small scratch.

His own eyes burn with tears the longer they stand in his cheaply-lit hall.  He doesn’t know what to _do._ “... _Derek. Please.”_ He can only grip Derek tighter and cling back.

“ _I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave, please, please Alpha. Please_.” Derek suddenly whispers, clumsy hands twisting knots in Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles quickly takes both of the other’s hands, cold against his own, and pulls them to wrap tight around his neck, tugging the man impossibly closer and hushes him; rocking their bodies gently back and forth. He repeatedly assures Derek that _that_ ’ _s_ a ridiculous thought and whoever came up with it was a butthead who probably never had cookies as a child and Stiles was not letting anyone make Derek go anywhere any time soon.

Derek tries to mould into Stiles’ clothes and become some sort of attractive permanent growth and mumbles shaky apologies which leads Stiles to intensify the cuddles to soothe the poor werewolf.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Ssh, everything’s fine. Ssh _._ We’re okay. We’re all good. _Ssh_.”

Their food eventually arrives and Derek stays close to him the rest of the day, silent and looking deep in thought. Stiles internally coos at his furrowed eyebrows even as he grows insane with worry.

He completely forgets about looking into Lydia’s files.


	7. It's So Strange!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Sunday: Morning 0.5]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooh. This one's really short. Idk. I just wanted to update it's been so long.
> 
> I have big big plans for this baby but I'm really stuck on how to get there??? I still have to do pregnancy research and everything and I just. I don't want to write something sucky for you guys I love you all.
> 
> Besides, I'm supposed to get you all hooked on this before I break your hearts, right? ;D
> 
> *Also the Underage rating is for past non-con. Though I _have_ decided to make Derek a bit younger than Stiles in this fic, he's no longer Underage at this time.

They’re huddled on the mattress, Stiles’ couch recently stripped for cleaning, watching some movie or another. He wasn’t really paying much attention, his laptop on his crossed legs as he shifted through the things Lydia gave him for work in vain, his gaze continuously straying towards Derek.

“It’s so strange!” The wolf suddenly huffs, looking at Stiles’ indignantly to which the brunet startles, heart quickening its pace; hoping he hadn’t been caught staring.

Stiles laughs hesitantly, nodding, “I – It is. Definitely. Strange. Tell me about it.” He plays off, scoffing.

Derek grins at him and Stiles beams back, giving himself a mental high five for a great save before Derek’s speaking again, “Yes!” He turns his eyes back on the screen, eyebrows furrowed unhappily. “There’s not one werewolf in the movie! It doesn’t make sense.”

The brunet blinks at him.

“Derek... Werewolves aren’t...” What? Real? Clearly they are, Derek’s sitting right there with his glowing eyes and fangs and supernatural pregnancy going on – and Stiles can’t be hallucinating, Scott and Lydia saw him too, and Derek gave the best hugs. Hugs like that can’t be produced just from Stiles’ mind.

He notices Derek almost pouting at him at the pause, looking utterly heartbreaking and Stiles scrambles for a word that wouldn’t make Derek anywhere near sad.

“They aren’t... Umm... Public knowledge... ?” He tries, pitifully. _And I call myself a writer._

The wolf just looks at him, amused, and Stiles has a second or two to be confused before Derek’s leaning closer and – was he? Yup, he was certainly – nuzzling beneath the curve of Stiles’ jaw, his nose a touch cold, stubble brushing the slightest bit against Stiles’ neck and Stiles just – he freezes, holding his breath.

“You’re so silly, Alpha.” Derek mumbles, smiling against his skin – _oh my god_.

Derek eventually pulls away, petting his belly absently. “May I go use the toilet, Stiles?” He smiles innocently, completely unaware of the mini heartattacks he keeps giving Stiles with the almost illegal amounts of preciousness and cuddles and _touching_ and Derek was still staring at him for permission, expression growing worried which prompts Stiles to just nod dumbly.

Quickly shaking himself, he helps Derek to his feet, watching the man disappear upstairs towards the bathroom.

He snatches his phone and texts Scott frantically,

_To: Scott_

_Pls tell me u’ll be here soon I might do sumthin indecent_

_From: Scott_

_what?_

_To: Scott_

_He’s gonna kill me bro I’m gonna die have u seen him_

_From: Scott_

_dun be stupid stiles_

_To: Scott_

_But Scott he’s all touchy and cuddly and hot and sweet and rly hot_

_From: Scott_

_lol_

_To: Scott_

_I hate u. >:[_

_From: Scott_

_no u don’t :D_

_From: Scott_

_be there soon bro picking up the doc_

_To: Scott_

_What on ur bike hahahahaha._

_From: Scott_

_no stupid. mom’s car. now stop texting i’m leaving._

Just then, Derek pads back into the room looking sulky again.

“Hey, big guy. What’s wrong?” Stiles asks, putting his phone away. He sees Derek hesitate and the brunet smiles at him encouragingly, waiting.

“... I’m hungry.” The wolf admits, cheeks flushing in shame.

“Oh man! I am so sorry. Come on, we’ll get something delivered.” He curses to himself, scrolling through his contacts for a decent food place.

He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping after Derek’s check-up, maybe he’d be able to sneak the wolf out and people would just assume he had a food baby instead of a not-so-food baby.

They still need to talk about where Derek came from, after-all.


End file.
